Jacker
by Squadron
Summary: A vengeful robot with artificial intelligence seeks to kill his creator and those responsible for sending him on an impossible mission. A small dispatch of the Team arrives to apprehend the threat. Will he escape and continue his debauchery? Will enemies of the team become his new best friends? Or will his rescue from that suicide run have been a waste? Please read this.


So far, Squadron has left, moved on, and is probably working on a way to spring the Injustice League from the big house. But what's been going on with the rest of The Team? What kind of mission could they have they couldn't shelve to save their friends? Rate, comment, spread.

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"Is it the failing point of only organics to hate?" The old robot, battle worn and missing a leg wondered. For whatever reason he, being modeled after a human man, was rather philosophical at the moment. Being able to draw a hypothesis was important, so a squadron of robots were built by conscription of Red Tornado with the ability to imagine. Imagining was about the only thing this one could do, having fallen on a beach with sand washing into his destroyed stump of a leg. Currently, he was wondering whether it was possible for inorganics to feel hatred.

Dorchet, the randomized name given to the now dying android, had every reason, by human measures, to hate his enemies. The extraterrestrials had landed on this beach on the west coast and his brothers and he were ordered to greet them by opening fire. It was a simple enough mission. The aliens decimated the imaginative robots and left. But the aliens had only put one of their powerful laser blasts in his leg. It couldn't have been mercy, Dorchet thought. The aliens wanted him to be slowly buried and sit there, years upon years waiting for the infinitesimally small chance for someone to dig him up. He had every right to despise them, if he had been a human. But it was different.

"Love and Hatred are not for you. You exist to think, and to carry out orders. You do not have the capacity to do irrational things such as liking or disliking." The speech given to his brothers and to him the second time they turned him on had a simple purpose. Robots were to use their imagination to serve people, and imagination can be a dangerous thing. Imagination led to Epicureanism, as all can agree was a self-centered and destructive philosophy centering on making oneself happy and discarding all other cares. But, as it would be beneficial for androids to have the ability to create a hypothesis, they were built capable of thinking beyond evidence.

"But all my brothers are dead. No one will come for me if they think the mission is a failure. Why am I required to follow their orders anymore? If they don't save me, am I still theirs? No. I must escape from here, lest I become trapped." Dorchet made an attempt to activate both his arms, and failed. Having lied there so long, sand had washed into the gaps created by scratches and dents from the battle. Perhaps he would terminate here. Existence neutralized, what would happen? Does the consciousness of a robot _artificially created_ endure eternally? Or will his eight hundred year lifespan ensure otherwise? He had no more time to be philosophical; his battery life ran out, being set for only seven hours. _They never expected us to succeed…_A sudden darkness washed over him.

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"I see you've aroused." Dorchet was upright in a clear plastic booth with wires sticking here, stocks supporting his hands from above, flashing lights there, energy meters, clocks, timers, and other instruments indicating someone had picked him up and given him new arms and legs. The woman who had salvaged his body from the God-forsaken beach announced in a few hours, he'd be able to move again as she attached the last improvised leg. Rather than the usual _Where am I_, the answer seeming obvious to him, he selected another question.

"Why did you choose to rescue me, a procedure for which I am grateful?"

"I understand you're a valuable robot with the ability to conjure thoughts without evidence. It would be unbearable to see a mind like yours go to waste. I'm glad you're grateful I brought you here and gave to you fresh limbs." At their mention, Dorchet noticed they were spindly and black, without proper casing, not at all matching the muscular looking blue-gray torso that thankfully survived sand washing into it. His legs were especially unusual. They had no knees and treads for feet. To sink, he would have to use the hydraulic cylinders he had for legs, as opposed to bending over, as he had grown accustomed to doing in his seven month lifespan. Still, they were better than sand filled limbs.

"How am I to repay you, once I am able to function?" She took some time.

"Currently, you're going to be helping me assemble a new, more complete body for a deserving robot. Ultimately, we're going to investigate as to why you were sent on a suicide run and why the aliens landed. I hope you're up to such a challenge."

"Of course I shall help you in your endeavors." Soon he was able to move around, and was assisting the technician, whose name he learned was Ariadne, on the casing for the body. It was artfully done, carbon steel painted navy blue with tiny white ones and zeros, probably binary, completely covering the shell. The digits were only visible up close, and from a distance, the body would simply look a slightly lighter shade of blue. As he covered the shell with polyurethane, to protect the code, Ariadne informed him the shell was nearly unbreakable, and even if it did break, it would only bend and the code would be preserved.

"The code is immensely important. Binary is a universal language, and I came across this code on the internet when I stumbled across a server with letters and characters that I've never seen before. Once I had copied the entire code, which looked important enough, it seemed the admins noticed me and they sent me a request in every language not to disclose anything I'd seen there and that the code would be removed from the internet to protect it."

"How will putting this code on the body of a robot preserve it for our purposes?"

"Once it's completed, this body will be the most powerful thing I've ever created with the ability to adopt the power of any machine. Don't ask me how, I really don't feel like explaining it." They resumed work. Eventually, the two of them finished the casing and moved on to the components to go inside it. Dorchet was tasked with working on the delicate sensory parts, as Ariadne wanted the robot to be able to see just like a human. He was left wondering who would receive this body. Did Ariadne have a habit of picking up stray androids? Or was it for someone they would meet in the future? As he already had a body, he didn't want to ask, lest he make it seem like he thought they would be his. He decided he would simply see when it was done. After a few months of solid work and errands for additional materials to make the parts, the robot was nearing its completion, with all the internal components loaded in. The body needed to cool off, as it had thousands of times before, after constant soldering. At this point, the two of them had been sealing the shell closed.

"After this, only the user will be able to open the shell. I still can't believe we're finished."

"Exactly who-"

"Of course, it's going to need to sit for a while. Not only does it have to cool, I want to download several books in order to provide a wealth of knowledge on command. I need to go get some air; wait here and you're free to research your origin some more if you like." Dorchet had been on the computer trying to figure out who was in control of his division. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to be learned, as the failed mission would be rather embarrassing. He got on the computer as Ariadne pulled a rectangular box from her coat pocket while walking out the door. Fresh burning air.

"Don't get yourself killed. You don't want to slowly die in a hospital."

"There are worse ways to go. I've heard the least enjoyable part is a feeling of failure as the lights go out. Besides, you're the only one who matters."

"See you." And Dorchet turned to the screen, continuing with his life's goal. He found a link to a video praising a possible candidate for his designer, which might lead him to his commanding officer. The sound was really low, and as this was the first lead in weeks, so he turned it up entirely and let it play. It was short and didn't tell him much initially, but then he saw it. It was his body, lying on a workbench being showed off to press. "And I'm naming this one after myself, because he's the first one-"Three loud noises came from outside. They could be attended later. "This will be the android of the century- Dorchet Bastille!" Dorchet was genuinely excited. His name wasn't random; it was the exact name of his designer and builder.

"Ariadne!" Dorchet rose and turned, heading for the door without noticing blood creeping in from under the door. He would never forget this; not for the rest of his life.

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Sirens wailed, red and blue lights revolved, bathing a poor robot with mismatched parts in an angry light. Zippers opened, corpses loaded, body bags shut, and doors closed in Dorchet's life. Eventually all ambulances and law enforcement were gone, save a smiling patrol officer with some gray in his hair. As a thousand and one theories flooded through Dorchet's mind, the policeman was wrapping up the questioning.

"The rest of the force assumed you did it, but I found the weapon about a block away, so you should be fine. It looks like a drive-by, these things happen for no reason. It probably wasn't personal, so you aren't invol-" But then it all made sense.

"Aliens." Dorchet stood there pondering the easiest way to rearm himself for possible altercations. If he had his way, there would be a lot of those.

"Hold on there, son, even if you've had some history with extraterrestrials, they probably aren't involved, the weapon was a Beretta, and they would have different-"

"Then they must have done so to throw me off. They want to torture me, they left me on a beach to be buried-"

"Listen here, I know you're-"

"Shut up! You have no idea what the Shrioukt we were supposed to kill are like! They're spiteful, hate the people of earth, and show no mercy. I'm going to get to the bottom of this." The patrol officer reached for his right leg. _Is he going for a weapon? _The robot seized his throat and extended his legs beyond their normal length. Dorchet's eyes metaphorically widened as the man choked. _In the movies it always took longer. Maybe it's just that he's aging_. He relived his grip and looked around; no one was present. Then he looked back at the body. There was a phone on the right leg and a gun on the left. _What the hell? Was he left handed? There's no way I should assume he's going for a gun. But what's done is done. I have to grab some stuff and get out of here; it's not like I was planning on sticking around much longer anyway._ Dorchet wheeled inside and obtained three experimental parts. A firing mechanism from an automatic pistol reworked to pump pistons on a hair trigger, an old motorcycle engine with a working alternator still attached and a small can of volatile, high-energy chemicals.

"These should do nicely" After grabbing the patrol officer's 9mm he was off.

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Dr. Bastille fumbled with the keys briefly; then opened his office door. It had been quite the day, as affairs are easy; keeping them from spouses, not so much. At least it was Saturday, so there would be no one here or in any other adjacent office buildings. As he turned around to his desk, he heard a small noise and half expected to see someone leaning back in his chair with their feet propped up on his desk.

"Well, I would have done that, only the legs you built me gave out after a little sand. Tell me doctor, exactly how did you put so many design flaws in my body and expect me to survive? My arms were nearly blown off by the alien equivalent of a paintball gun. Or was it that you didn't expect me to survive?" A robot with that familiar head and torso, yet new limbs and a backpack was pointing a sig at him. His weaponry proved him no less dangerous, however.

"As it turns out, the Red Tornado's idea of imagination was bad for business. We've gone back to making robots that follow orders or die trying, and like it that way. Isn't that right…? Leicester?" A tall white and gray robot materialized behind him. The genius of the bent man in front of him dawned on Dorchet as he realized that tiny projectors covered the android's shell and a thin sheet hung on him a few inches from his body, but was rapidly being sucked into his head.

"Cloaking devices are all the rage back here, since you left the nest. Of course, they're not perfect because as of now we can't film the outside from in. There are only a few settings, but they cover pretty much all environments in the modern era."

"What kind of era caused them to malfunction?" A little poking fun at poor phrasing could buy him time to think, Dorchet thought. But it turned out it was exactly what Leicester meant.

"The 60's and 70's contained too fucking many pretty colors and flowers and nonsense like that. Preselected camouflage couldn't keep up with that. Bastille corp. had to just shoot a person, which was a lot less fun, as I'm told." Dorchet took advantage of Leicester's momentary occupation and shot Bastille in the face. It was a pity he couldn't question him, but the crippled man was too dangerous to leave alive. He quickly wheeled toward the window, but Leicester fired his own weapon, blowing off the arm with the gun.

"Don't even think about it, murderer. This is a particle ray. Your arm isn't lying on the ground somewhere. It's been reduced to carbon, iron, and various other elements. They'll be sticking to air particles and this room will probably stink for a year, but I can effectively cause you to cease to exist. Now step through this door and follow me to a holding cell or be turned into outdated homicidal robot dust." There was little else to do, being on the top floor of a 36 story building. As Dorchet opened the door, he motioned for Leicester to pass first. If he pulled this off he'd have all his answers.

"Don't insult my intelligence, that's the oldest trick in the book. Why did you come here if you think you can pull your termite infested wool over my eyes with your pitiful charades?"

"I was hoping you could help me with that. Who sent my brothers and me on that suicide run?"

"I did. Bastille got sick of your 'imagination' nonsense and decided to kill you off. I gave the order to ship you across the country and aliens showed up and got rid of our problems for us." At a prodding from the incredibly dangerous particle ray, Dorchet wheeled backwards through the office door. Promptly, he then slammed it in Leicester's face, which was the forming into a mechanical sigh. After Dorchet hid behind a desk, Leicester blasted the door into smithereens, but strangely nothing else.

"You still don't get it, do you? There was no real mission, you were just sent out to be murdered by the first aliens that arrived. The Shrioukt killed your brothers because you were ordered to attack without warning. But here we are, and I've got a weapon that can destroy anything and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I understand that weapon better than you do." Taking cover when Leicester fired was useless because the particle ray had only destroyed the door without even damaging the hinges. It was designed to select one object, disassemble it and fire again. Objects of diverse atomic structure would be a good defense against it, as it was probably built to avoid friendly fire, or excess property damage. But there was no reason to tell Leicester this. Dorchet grabbed a fake plant, threw it in front of the blast, and wheeled towards the office window with an industrial 200 ft. extension cord. Breaking the window would have been easier than getting out of it, only it was one of those that went from the floor to the ceiling, giving the building a reflective look. A stone paperweight was all it took, though, and Dorchet quickly tied the cord to a column as he accelerated to the hole. A misfire destroyed a circle of floor behind Dorchet, who had succeeded in driving out into open space with an intentional slight spin. He slung back toward a window about 3 stories down and 2 left and felt a release on the cord. Damn Leicester was too smart to try shooting at a moving object. He would be going a few extra stories down and lose significant forward momentum. Luckily the rock he threw at the window was right next to him; he thanked Galileo for way to break back into the building. The blasts Leicester was firing after him were hitting adjacent buildings. _Who is the murderer now?_

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"There has been a change from the usual procedure, as it turns out. Batman will not be giving you this mission; rather, it's my responsibility because I am partially to blame. An extremely intelligent android has killed a police officer and broken into an office building, murdering his creator and one of his brothers is after him with an arsenal capable of leveling a city block. As Artemis and Robin are currently on a mission where they will presumably meet Red Arrow, who remains?" Miss Martian answered.

"Connor's… out; he wouldn't tell me why, which is strange."

"And what has become of the other two not here?

"Zatanna and Kaldur are doing some asinine 'magic experiment' which will probably take a while." Wally may have to believe in magic, but he didn't have to like it.

"Very well, Rocket, Kid Flash, and Miss Martian, you can get to Star City and see what you can do about the situation." The trip in M'gann's ship was relatively short. The question on their minds was that if the pursuing robot was infinitely more powerful, why hadn't they been instructed to go after him and leave the other to mortal authorities? When M'gann was concentrating on this question particularly intensely, the other two heard.

"Because," Wally said "If that robot with the power to destroy cities can't kill him, and Red Tornado described no sort of special abilities on this one, he's oceans more intelligent than we give him credit for being. He's killed two people, rather than that Wil E. Coyote chasing him, meaning he's got some kind of specific mission." Not wishing to be outdone before the fight started, Rocket had a response to this.

"Even if M'gann can't instantly find him because he's a hunk of metal, the cops said he was pretty beat-up and had replaced his arms and legs. We'll bust up that tin can by following the path of destruction." Out the window, their target proved that would be unnecessary. A blue and black android, followed by a white version of Red Tornado, minus the cape, had stolen a radio and hijacked the emergency broadcast loudspeakers for the outskirt district of Star City he occupied.

"Fools who assume their enemies are easy targets make mistakes." Wally turned away from Rocket briefly, as it would be better to chuckle out of view, and she could kick his ass back into an era where his Hero name was less corny. M'gann landed the bioship on the rooftop and flew out, followed by the other two.

"There's no place to run; we're taking you into custody so this idiot can't kill more people or you. We also have some questions we want to bust from your aluminum ass before you go off to prison." The android was ready for Rocket's question.

"But I have no weapons, and Leicester here killed more people. You have me cornered, so ask yourself: who is the bigger threat here?" Wally was not fooled by the inorganic domestic terrorist.

"You are. You're incredibly intelligent and the thing with that is it's hard to tell exactly what your next move is. Even if we can't see what you have planned, you know it's a good enough reason to be cornered on this building. And as Kid Flash rushed towards him with the force of a train, Dorchet knew he was exactly right.

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Dorchet had actually been in the building because he knew the people working here advocated nuclear power. Nuclear power was potent, efficient and long lasting. Unfortunately, it was dangerous and volatile, so certain groups sought to profit from it by attempting to make it safer and showing its power off in technology that would not normally be powered effectively. The jetpack on top of his backpack he had stolen from downstairs was a good example. It had been relatively easy to get into the building, after hurling a rock at the exact window he needed, extending to full height and sinking on impact, grabbing the stupid paper weight, pushing a desk into the only elevator, so it wouldn't be able to close and leave, taking the fire escape with only his arm (wheels did not agree with such a concept), tying the cord off at the end once he was close enough to the ground, and sliding down. Unfortunately, Leicester, being of indefinite fortitude, jumped down the stairwell 2 or 3 flights at a time, leaving the building a full two minutes later, giving Dorchet significantly less time to explore options to kill Leicester. He had one thing, though.

"Wally, look out!" In the next quarter of a second, this Wally character failed to look out and was shoved by an invisible force from the path of Leicester's weapon, which Dorchet had long since learned how to dodge. This boy was going places, with that scientific sense about him, but at the moment he was nearly going off the edge.

"Dammit, M'gann, why didn't you just move his blaster?" Whoever she was didn't answer. As Dorchet took off to take advantage of the last benefit of nuclear power, the two young women pursued him. _They're flyers. I can't stand fliers. Why does the world need more fliers? I'll just get out into orbit. _Accomplishing such a feat was easier said than done. The girls were faster than he, and rapidly gaining on him. _At least they answered the question of how I can get down. I hadn't expected Leicester to find me._ Nearly out of the atmosphere, one of them turned back, but the other was probably an alien, being green and all. He pulled out the lucky rock and threw it at her face. It bloodied her nose, slowing down a little, but fell to earth, probably to permanently become part of a crosswalk. He was almost into orbit, but now the girl was inches from him. Leicester's particle ray caught up, forcing her onto the other side of the blast. Finally floating in sweet, sweet orbit, Dorchet removed his jetpack and pushed off of it after setting it to self-destruct. Dorchet was falling for the third time that day, a procedure he did not enjoy. The girl saw him and headed after him, but froze hearing the explosion behind her. _Seems it's working perfectly. Leicester passes out in 3,2,1-_ On the ground, the barely visible wave passed over Leicester and a few of the top floors of that building. He fell over, eyes dark and electronic muscles still. Dorchet pretended not to work. The young woman grabbed him from his descent and set him back on the rooftop.

"Lucky we took the Bioship. That seemed to be an E.M.P." The girl who was carrying him didn't comment. She was probably just angry about carrying him. _Of course it was an E.M.P. It was a nuclear explosion in orbit. _The quick boy was speaking again.

"So… He was more worried about knocking out this guy for however long it lasts than us or his life? Pretty stupid idea."

"We depend on you for stupid ideas, Wally. It was probably just a backup plan to get revenge if he couldn't escape." All insults seemed to bounce off this Wally.

"Well, what if he plans for it to wear off and to turn back on half way back and let this other robot blow us up while he escapes?" _The other robot would still be chasing me, Wally. This is improbable._ Before the human girl could chastise him, the alien interjected.

"It would probably be a good idea to disable them in case that's even possible." The girl was wise enough. The function of E.M.P.s to the exact degree was debatable. He'd seen spark plugs on automobiles fry permanently, but computers would mysteriously return to life if plugged back into an outlet. It would have been ideal if the assembled super humans left the two of them there assuming they'd be dead forever. The only reason Dorchet wasn't out was he had attached the alternator to his energy storage and started the motorcycle engine with the compound powering it the second before he was hit by the wave. _The backpack was never really a backpack I cut out the back and used it to cover my backup system._ All parts relying on electricity were dead until he could get back to the shop and fix them. Even his internal computer had ceased to function. Dorchet was now a true robot, relying on commands he had programmed for himself in the event of an electromagnetic pulse. The basic objective would be to return home. The three of them were working on disarming the other robot. Once again, they had misjudged the level of risk between them. They were standing, evidently they had finished. It was time to leave. _But I have no knees. How can I stand if I fall? No results. Better start trying commands._ Dorchet pushed off the ground with his remaining arm and set the wheels into reverse. As he was going off the edge, the other robot exploded. Perhaps deactivation triggered self-destruct. Or perhaps they made a mistake. Either way was satisfactory. The act of falling from the edge was concluded by the automated response of seizing a convenient window washer from behind, bouncing off the window with his hydraulic legs, swinging back (he was in a harness suspended from the roof) with more force, crashing through the window, and wheeling to the elevator, upright this time. _The fliers can get to the ground more quickly than I can. They'll expect me to have hidden in this floor, or go to the ground. But should an eventuality such as this arise, my conscious self programmed me to hide on a random floor and send the elevator back. _He got to the elevator, exited a few floors below and tried to send the elevator on. But every time he pressed the button, he couldn't exit quickly enough. He looked through notes. _"It's possible to build a bomb out of supplies found in the home or office." "It may be necessary to sacrifice an arm. You don't need any to return to base." "Humans will generally believe you have a job to do if you act like you're going about it."_ There was only one thing to do. He stuck his arm into the elevator, pressed the button for a floor below his location, and released his arm. He could no longer send it back to the floor from whence he came, as he could vaguely hear them from above, meaning they checked there first, rather than the first floor. There was naught to do but hide. As he sunk and wheeled under an office table, he increased the focus on the voices above.

"I can't see that little bastard going down the stairs; let's see where he parked the elevator before we call it here." It was an ideal situation; he had turned their own intelligence against them. If they had simply summoned the elevator, they would have had to check every single floor. Fortunately, there was no display to show where the elevator was, or they might have seen it make 2 stops. The three of them took the stairs, and checked each floor to see where the door was still open. He even heard them search below him when they found it. _And now it is time to prove why they picked the less dangerous target. _He then wheeled over to the stairwell and began descending. It would be logical for them to go down if they did not find him on the floor they were searching. He then heard a loud voice.

"But he has to be on this floor if his arm came off. How else could he press the buttons?" _While it is true I can't press the buttons, you don't know where the arm fell. Didn't you ever play with elevators as a child?_ He briefly considered proceeding down past them and out of the building, but they would probably be out shortly, and could go down the stairs more quickly than he. He also wanted to leave them a present. Someone else was speaking.

"He could have started down the stairs after dropping his arm; it looks like it came off cleanly."

"We can't afford that to be true. He has to leave eventually." The 4 of them ran down the stairs. The new voice was probably the window washer. This meant he left his harness and they probably pulled him up in hopes of getting Dorchet. _That was convenient; he couldn't see what I was doing._ Dorchet entered the level, retrieved his arm, and constructed a claymore with a little help from the janitor's closet. He could not see the purgatory function of White Phosphorus, though, unless one desired to burn their problems away. He didn't care. He set up the explosive to go off when the elevator opened at the top. He then took the stairs up, knowing there wasn't much time. It can't take that long to search the bottom floor and the surrounding area. Interviewing potential witnesses would not be hard; anyone would notice a robot with no arms and significant damage. When he reached the 20th and top floor, the group of more than 4 now was still checking the 17th floor, as they had to thoroughly search every single floor. Though he was slower at ascending the stairs, Dorchet had told him the best way to climb was extending to full length and effectively doing incomplete front flips. Only having one arm was not ideal and now it had taken significant damage. He was also at less than half fuel capacity. At the top, he pulled in the window washer's harness and attached rope and created a hole. After pressing the button to summon the elevator and tying his pack to the rope, he released his arm and broke it into pieces in front of the elevator. Wheeling back as far as he could, and then accelerating to the space where there was a window, Dorchet had cast the die. Falling out into empty space, the claymore detonated. There was only one place the harness could take him; the same hole through which he entered the building on the 16th floor. Of course, no one noticed, they were too busy crouching for cover. Because he had no arms now, untying anything was impossible, and he just slipped out of his backpack as he went through the hole. Dorchet bolted down the stairs and out the building, then through roads that weren't crowded with parked cars and people looking up at the burning office building with destroyed windows next to the other office building with destroyed windows. Anyone that saw him would not remember him, as he pretended to be looking for something. He also asked people where things were. _I'm but a normal armless robot going about his business. _Unfortunately, there was an issue. There was no way he could get all the way out of town and back to the lab; he would run out of fuel about a mile prior.

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"Everybody get down!" The volunteer search party obeyed Miss Martian's order without hesitation. An explosive above them sent the elevator plummeting down the shaft, the cords destroyed, on fire, and not stopping for doors to open. A vague dark shape passed behind her, falling past the floor. As the rouge elevator hit the ground floor, screams could be heard as those in the lobby fled the building. Rocket ran over to where she was with an expression of confused rage on her face.

"That little tin bastard was on the top floor the whole time? Coward must a realized we'd find him soon and went kamikaze!"

"But how did we find his arm if he never left the top floor?" Wally had a stupid idea to share.

"What if he let go of his arm after pressing the button to throw us off?" The other two stopped and looked at him a minute.

"Wally, this is one of your stupidest ideas yet. But it's part of the reason we depend on you for stupid ideas." It left a question, though.

"But how would he get out? He wouldn't have a hand to press the button to call the elevator back, and couldn't use the stairwell because we were in it. Unless he expected to run down the stairs, then get in the elevator where the door was open, reattach his arm, and take the elevator down."

"But he exploded near the elevator before he got the chance." The three all decided on the same wrong conclusion with Wally's sentiment. In reality, Dorchet had not taken this course because he would have had no idea where they were if he had not been following them so closely and the elevator would be at the bottom, revealing he had used it and escaped, while he did not want them to know he had yet lived.

"He must have gotten to the top floor in the first place by taking the elevator up after smashing through that window with the cleaner." Wally had another question.

"But why would he be near the elevator if he was taking the stairs? It could have been a bomb." When they went up to check if there was a robot chuckling to himself up there they soon realized fire consumed the top floor and roof. In hours, all metal, plastic and glass would melt. What they found was a bunch of little pieces of robot around the elevator entrance in realistic patterns of an explosion. M'gann nearly passed out.

"Guys… it's super cold on Mars, heat is my primary weakness… we need to get out of here." And with that, the three members of the Team began the slow process of escorting the volunteers down the stairs.

"It's okay, people, he still died, right? The only reason we didn't bring down a domestic terrorist was that he died by accident before we could get to him. The real reason we were after this guy was that he was a threat, and he isn't anymore." The group of normal people shuffled down the stairs a little less downheartedly. Miss Martian touched down to earth outside. It still wasn't the same. The bad guy didn't have some grandiose plan to destroy earth with insane powers, they didn't stop him in time's penultimate nick, and he died ultimately died by accident. It was the kind of job you would want to mark "Mission Accomplished" and move on with your life, praying none ask for details. As she felt a tear welling up, M'gann altered her lacrimal glands, seeing Kid Flash and Rocket. As they talked of reasonable things like dividing up the city to search, she only half heard them. So she was supposed to fly around the East side of the building. Ok, that doesn't sound too difficult. Her arms hung limp as Miss Martian took off into the air. _What are we trying to find? Was it the object that fell from the top floor?_ All she could recall was a vague dark shape as there was chaos it was her job to contain. _Did it fall on someone? It sucks for them. Every time some 'tragically misunderstood' robot, human, demon, alien or what have you makes a mess, it's my job to clean it up. I have to hold the fabric of civilization together and I'm not even asked. It's just expected of me because I can. I do it every damn day, after all._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Excuse me, Human, can you tell me where someplace with internet I can splice is?" The random man was helpful; he managed to direct what remained of Dorchet to an internet café that had recently suffered a shooting. Windows were being replaced, but there were people inside, tapping away at various electronic devices.

"There was a shooting last night. Everyone comes here now for the internet and free parking, primarily because they don't have to buy anything. Sending an employee to the hospital was probably the best thing for getting people in the building yet. Management's away, of course." Dorchet thanked the citizen and wheeled inside, checking around for a computer. There was a desktop with bullets through the monitor, but the computer was largely fine. There was also a spare prosthetic limb, which didn't take long to turn into a spindly new arm. Hooking up with a USB cable to the computer was enough to sort out his memories and stealing parts afterwards helped him rebuild his internal computer, restoring it to its former glory. _Well, it's good to be back, but what am I going to do about fuel? I have a couple miles left in me, but I need to get all the way out of town. I can't drive, but if I stole a car, I could use the gasoline to get me further… but I really don't want to be noticed, much less make headlines. I also have to drop this limb. It would be obvious I stole it if I came out of this office with it. I've had enough of offices for one day, let's see what's outside._ A truck was pulling out of an alley as a blond girl collapsed from injuries running after it. _What could that be?_


End file.
